


blame it on the wine (and bucky barnes)

by skatzaa



Series: mcu tumblr oneshots [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Air Marshal AU, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Basically Sam Drinks Some Wine On An Airplane And Makes A Fool Of Himself, F/M, Natasha is an Air Marshal, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam is a Recent College Graduate, i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 22:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: ivecarvedawoodenheart requested “SamNat meetcute on the plane, Nat is the Air Marshal,” and I said “!!!!!! I LOVE IT.”And so this was born.





	blame it on the wine (and bucky barnes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YourPalYourBuddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/gifts).



> **There are brief discussions of wine and throwing up as a result of the wine.**
> 
> As a disclaimer, I've never had wine in my life, but this was inspired by the fact that the flight attendant tried to give me someone else's cup of wine on my last flight. **Also:** I love Sam Wilson dearly, and this is not meant to be a slight on his character whatsoever. But, in case you've never met a 23 year old man, let me just say this: they're pretty much all dumbasses. It's hard not to be.

Because Sam is young and stupid, he accepts the free Southwest drink vouchers Bucky shoves at him as Steve hustles him out the door and toward the waiting taxi. 

“Go crazy!” Bucky yells as the door closes. 

“Do you have your passport?” Steve asks, worried. 

“Yes.” 

“What about your boarding pass?” 

“Yep.” 

“And—” 

“Steve,” Sam says, stopping to place a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He crouches down just a bit to look Steve in the eye even though he hates it. “We’ve been over all this. I’ll be fine. And it’s just for a week.” 

Steve pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he’s had since long before Sam met him. He chews his lip but eventually says, “alright.” 

Sam smiles. 

The front door opens, and Bucky yells, “don’t forget to snap me, jackass!” 

Sam scoffs and flips him off without looking. “Like I’d be the one to wreck our streak you bastard.” 

Bucky laughs and Steve rolls his eyes at them. 

Sam gets in the cab. 

*

Because Sam is young and stupid, he pulls out the vouchers and says “wine?” in a way that’s more of a question than a request when the flight attendant asks him what he’d like to drink, even though he’s never had wine before. Sam doesn’t even think he’ll like wine. 

The flight attendant makes a skeptical face and asks for his ID; as a twenty-three-year-old, Sam is supremely offended, but he hands it and one of the drink vouchers over anyway. The flight attendant checks his ID and asks if Sam would be alright with red wine. 

Sam nods, though he has no idea what the difference between red and not-red wine is. His and Steve’s and Bucky’s tastes stray more toward cheap beer and whatever they can find at the parties Bucky still drags them too, though they graduated a year ago at this point. 

He looks the vouchers over as he waits for his drink, muttering under his breath, “where the hell did Bucky get these?” because, as far as Sam knows, Bucky has never flown on a plane. 

It isn’t until he’s finished the first cup and halfway through the second that he realizes the only thing he’s had to eat all day was that pack of complementary peanuts five minutes ago. For all his mothering, Steve had shooed him right out of the house without the breakfast sandwich Steve had warmed up for him. 

Sam considers the cup—maybe he should stop? Or at least ask the flight attendants for one of those bags of cookies they were passing around earlier, so he can have a bit more in his stomach? 

After a moment, he shrugs. He’ll probably be fine. 

(He is not, in fact, fine. Sometime after his third cup—which, it must be said, is so small that in total he’s probably had a bit less than one true glass of wine—he stumbles to the bathroom and pukes in the little airplane toilet, because wine and an empty stomach and a slight bit of altitude sickness apparently don’t go well together. 

And puking in an airplane toilet is just as gross as it sounds.) 

*

Because Sam is young and stupid, he tries to flirt with the Air Marshal the flight attendant politely but firmly reseated him with. 

She’s pretty, in a deceptively unremarkable sort of way, and she has to be at least four years older than he is. Probably on the young side to be an Air Marshal, but she looks like she takes her job serious, which makes it a really, _really_ bad idea to try and flirt, rather than just a really bad idea. 

Not that his flirting is particularly effective when he’s pretty sure he can _feel_ his skull squeezing his brain. 

“So,” he drags out, leaning on the armrest. There’s an empty seat between them. “Remind me again why I get to enjoy the pleasure of your company?” 

She raises a single eyebrow, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. It’s almost enough to make Sam regret every decision that led to him being in the situation. 

“ _You_ vomited all over the bathroom because apparently you can’t handle red wine like the frat boy you probably are,” she says. “Which means _I_ get to babysit you unless someone actually dangerous is on the plane.” 

“Oh,” he says faintly, trying to work through all that. He should probably be offended by either the frat boy or babysitting remark—or both—but he’s too off-balance to manage it. He knows he probably isn’t really drunk, but it’s only because it feels like he jumped straight to the hangover. Also, he can admit, he may have initially missed the toilet by a few inches. 

Wine sucks. 

This is all Bucky’s fault, he’s sure of it. 

Sam turns his head so he can see out the window. He loves flying for this reason, even if it makes him a bit sick and all he can see at the moment is farmland. Even that is interesting, from this high up. 

When he pulls back, the Air Marshal is flipping through one of those airline magazines, a few strands of red hair falling out of her neat ponytail. Sam is pretty sure he’s smitten, but only a little. 

“So,” he says, trying to lean on the armrest again. Only this time his elbow misses and he ends up nearly falling over. He rights himself and clears his throat, rubbing at the spot on his abdomen where the armrest dug into his skin. “I’m Sam. What’s your name?” 

His flirting skills could definitely use some work, seeing as they’re practically nonexistent at the moment. 

Despite that, the Air Marshal smiles briefly, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of thing. Sam feels honor that she chose to bestow such a gift on him, even if it was because she’s more or less laughing at him. 

“I’m Natasha,” she says. 

*

Because Sam is young and stupid, he doesn’t stand until everyone has exited the plane, not including Natasha and the flight crew. The alcohol is no longer affecting him, outside of the fact that he can tell he’ll have an even worse headache later if he doesn’t drink some water soon. But that also means he has no excuse for saying: 

“Natasha?” 

When she turns toward him, he gives her his best smile and holds out a slip of paper. It’s folded up as many times as Sam could manage, which is quite a few, so he’s able to get his carry on and get off the plane before she unfolds it and potentially kicks his ass for being so presumptuous. 

He hurries down the jetway because he doesn’t like his odds if she decides to chase him, and doesn’t slow down from his almost-run until he’s almost out of the terminal. 

He’s glad he was brave enough to give his number to a pretty girl, even if the chances of her actually using it are pretty slim. 

Sam is in Portland for a conference for work, so he focuses on finding a cab to take him to the hotel and making sure the address for the conference is correct and attending the opening speeches and all that shit, so it’s not until that night, while he’s lying in bed trying to relax for a bit, that he thinks to check his phone. He has five texts from Steve, two of which are about his forgotten breakfast sandwich; a snapchat video of Bucky eating that sandwich with obvious relish; more work emails than he cares to count; and a text from an unsaved number. 

He texts Steve back, telling him not to worry and also failing to mention the wine incident; sends a snapchat to Bucky that’s just his middle finger flipping off the camera; ignores the emails; and finally opens the other text, heart pounding in his chest. 

**From: Unsaved Number**  
i hope you stay away from the wine while youre here :-) 

Sam smiles and adds it to his contacts. 

**To: Natasha**  
Maybe I need some supervision to make sure I don’t make a fool of myself ;) 

**From: Natasha**  
you mean again?  
maybe ill take you up on that 

He tosses his phone onto the comforter, rolls over, presses his face into the pillow, and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, but never required.
> 
> Read On,  
> Skats


End file.
